All recognizable characters and settings belong to Ennis/Dillion and DC/Vertigo Comics; I am using them without permission but mean no harm and am making no profit. The plot and original characters, however belong to me. Any and all feedback is appreciated at dexf@sympatico.ca. Redistribution of this tale for profit is illegal. Please do not archive this story without contacting me first to obtain my permission.

 Christmas Eve, and I'm pissed as fuck in this little bar in New Orleans. Papa Leon served to college kids, black dock workers, strippers on breaks, tourists and your normal blend of New Orleans crowd that washed up on the bars at ten on a holiday night. Gennie is putting little plastic Christmas tree swizzle sticks into everyone's drinks and her daughter Betts had just put out the tray of turkey bites when the doors opened, and she walked in.

 Long blonde hair, old leather jacket, bandoleer of stakes and a cross hanging around her neck. Oh, and a big fuckin' crossbow in her hands. I was in the middle of chatting up a stripper named Candy with the biggest tits I'd ever seen at the time. Bollocks.

 "All right, freak. Time's up," she says, in this whiny accent, and I'm draining my pint for the moral support. Of course, Rene thinks she's talking about him and stumbles up to her with his hands in the air.

 "You got me, Marshal. But I didn't kill my wife." And then pukes up on her nice shoes. You can always rely on good old Rene.

 She jumped back like he'd set her pretty Gap outfit on fire, and gave me the moment to ease off towards the bog for a quick bit of vampiric escape; i.e crawling through the gents room window and heading off down the street. The bloody foot of crossbow bolt that slammed into the door beside me slowed me down a bit.

 "Not so fast, bloodsucker!" I hate that bloody name. Not like I need to wank and call them "kine" or "lunch" or anything like that. "I've got a Christmas present for you!"

 "Now wait jus' a bloody minute!" I started, and she highkicked over drunkRon, somersaulted like this acrobat I shacked up with during the Depression and dropped right in front of me. "Yeh don' know what the fockin' hell you're dealing--"

 And then she staked me right through the fockin' heart.

 "Oh, it isn't? I've been dragged out of my house, away from my friends and family the day before Christmas, and I'm supposed to be happy about this?" she said, furious. Giles rubbed the bridge of his nose and sat down on the hard plastic of the airport chair.

 "Look, we've all known that New Orleans is a hotbed of vampiric activity for years. Even before those damn Anne Rice novels. However, there is a cult at work here as well. Human thralls of some vampire. I've been doing some research, and I think the vampire in charge is a creature named Eccarius. There is a definite emphasis on French and old Roman festivals," Gile began, pulling out his battered notebook.

 "And?" Buffy said impatiently.

 "Well, these 'Les Enfants Du Sang' will be priming for Christmas, which was a Roman sun festival. Considering that, we're likely looking at something nasty and drenched in all sorts of blood, Buffy. I felt that we couldn't let it slide."

 "Cults, vampires, blood, and goths roasting over an open fire. Hell of a Christmas present, Giles."

 "Sorry. You know how I hate wrapping. And, let's be honest, what do you get the girl that's beaten everything." Giles adjusted his glasses and pointed towards the Quarter. "He'll likely be in that area to start. Between your senses and this handy little amulet Willow and I put together, we should locate the vampire in no time."

 "Amulet? I haven't seen that one before. Where did she get it?"

 "This one time at band camp, she said. Are we off?"

 Buffy hoisted up her crossbow and gave him the smile of awful things happening to bad people.

 "Merry Christmas, Giles."

 "He's still...solid, Giles."

 "I don't understand it, Buffy."

 "Ah, yeh wee hooer!" I finally got the stake in a good grip and wrenched it free. "Look at my soddin' jacket, bollocks!"

 "Buffy--"

 "I'm thinking, I'm thinking!"

 "Aw, give us a break, luv." Getting to my feet was eight kinds of hell, but drinking a pint out of that redneck cop up the road a few hours ago was causing the wound to seal. The blonde one pulled this Jackie Chan defensive pose out of her bag and let me have it right in the fockin' nose.

 "Aw, hell!" Then she closed in, fists and high-heeled kicks to the body and head. Hell, how's she even kick in those bloody things? Finally, after deciding being pounding into shite was the last thing I feel like, I got a grip on her arm and shook her.

 "Now, yeh can either lay the fuck off, or fight with a limb pulled off. Yeh choice!" She struggled and kicked, but I was having none of that. "Are yeh bloody done yet!"

 "Buffy!"

 "Shut it, English, or I deal with you next. Now, Buffy is it. Are you -- wait, Buffy? That's a fockin' name? Buffy? Shite, I thought only Hollywood twats named their kids Buffy. Anyhow, Buffy, are yeh done trying to pound us then?" I was having none of it. Being staked hurts like bollocks, and the followup Kung-Fu lesson was bad enough.

 "All right," she said finally, after having to grind a few bones together. I dropped her on a chair and turned back to Papa Leon. "Turbo Dog for me, um, scotch for him--" I guessed. It was a safe bet. "--and, uh, what do yeh drink?"

 "I don't drink."

 "--an' a Long Island Iced Tea for the blonde." I take the drinks over and sit down, watching the Englishman look all bloody interested like, and Buffy sulk. Bollocks. Let's deal with this. "So, why the fockin' staking in the middle of the bar?"

 "Well," the Englishman, Giles she called him, takes off his glasses and polishes them nervously. "Buffy here is the Slayer and--"

 "The what?"

 "Slayer. It's a mystic force that passes from age to age as a counterforce to vampirism."

 You must be fockin' kidding me.

 "So, this force, aye--"

 "Yes."

 "Passes from age to age to what, women?"

 "Traditionally yes, young women. We Watchers train them and help them in their fight."

 "So you run around after forced young women?"

 "Yes. No! That's not what I meant." He flustered. Wanker. "The Slayer balances out the tide of vampires."

 "And that's why yeh came after me?"

 "We're not sure."

 "What?"

 "Well, Eccarius--"

 "Cassidy."

 "Excuse me?"

 "It's Cassidy, mate."

 "Oh dear." Giles looked at Buffy, and she shrugged.

 "Well, this is just great! Wrong vampire!"

 "Why are yeh looking for Eccarius?"

 "Les Enfants Du Sang. It's a cult around--"

 "It's a bloody pack of wankers!"

 "You know them?"

 "Hard to forget them. Why are yeh looking for them?"

 "We believe that they have a blood ritual planned, with sacrifices and kidnappings and -- why are you laughing?" The Enfants de Wanky Sang! Those bloody bollocks are the reason that the 'mystical' Slayer is in town! I'm rolling on the floor and they're getting madder and madder as I can't stop laughing.

 "They're the reason that you're in town? A bloody cult of rich self-obsessed goth freaks who spend their days wanking on each other?" The girl looked slightly ill. "Figure of speech, love."

 "They're not a dangerous cult? But -- but all this material, and a pattern of killings over ten years in New Orleans. It all points to a vampire and a body of thralls active in the--" He looks like someone just ate is puppy. I try and break it to him as nice as possible.

 "Look, lad, there was a vampire named Eccarius here. We had a difference of opinion and I staked his arse to the top of the church to burn in the sun like. The Enfants are a bunch of rich kids without a bloody brain between them. They like to dress up in black and cut each other a lot. Good for them. Hopefully they keep it between themselves. I doubt they have the brains between them to venture an opinion, much less a kidnapping and blood ritual, aye?"

 "But--"

 "Giles... You're saying you're the only vampire in town?"

 "Cheers."

 "And you don't kill people?"

 "Unless they act the prick and try to kill me first...no offense."

 "So I've been dragged here for nothing? Giles--"

 "I didn't--"

 "Look children, peace. Say you buy me another drink, I'll drive yeh back to the airport, and we forget that this every happened, right?"

 "I couldn't agree more."

 "I--"

 "Quiet, Giles."

 "Cheers. So, what's it like being a Slayer?"

 "Sticky."

 "I know a girl who had a job like that once." She flipped her hair again, and I leaned in closer to her. "Yeh involved then?"

 "Do you have a relative named Spike by any chance?"

 "No. Why?"

 "Just asking. And the answer is no."

 "Yeh single then?"

 "No, I was answering your next question."

 "Bollocks."

 "It's just--" Giles started, and so help me, I had to pat him on the shoulder all consoling-like. When their mouths flap open like fish out of water, I get sympathetic. Don't tell anyone.

 "Relax, Giles. Look, it's Christmas right?"

 "Well, yes?"

 "I'm the bloody surprise under yer tree then." I toasted him with my bottle. "Cheers then."

 "Um, cheers."

 "Whatever."

 Wee bitch.